


Volumes

by flybynight



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 03:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5693557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flybynight/pseuds/flybynight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur almost never would have believed that the troubled boy he used to know could become a star.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Volumes

**Author's Note:**

> pairing: usuk  
> rating: T  
> warning: language, hurt/comfort, references to physical abuse  
> A/N: Originally written for a friend, this is my little contribution to Magical Strike fictions out there, an AU that I really love. So many of them are so sexy! I'm sorry that this is not. ;w;)

 

Arthur almost couldn’t believe it.

He was sure that if his friends could see him now, they would immediately wonder– what could possess someone like him, self proclaimed music snob with the utmost contempt for anything differing from his very specific preferences and tastes, to stand in line with an hour long wait ahead of him to attend a _pop music concert_?

Now Arthur didn’t judge people (openly) for the things they liked. Who had time for that? He simply knew what _he_ liked, and what he liked was eclectic at best and unappealing to most at worst. Yes, he was a snob, but he wasn’t an _asshole_.

Of course, over the course of the past couple of years he’d found that maybe his contempt for things wasn’t so contemptuous as he’d originally thought, or maybe he just realized he had more tolerance than he’d believed himself to be capable of. That was perhaps part of the reason why he was standing here, clutching his ticket in one hand and the glossy pamphlet some girl wearing too much glitter and hair extensions had thrust into his other hand on his way into the performance hall.

He was literally trapped in a sea of estrogen and pheromones, and while Arthur may have counted himself lucky on any other day, today was definitely not that day. There was the group of 17 year olds behind him who were already screaming for no reason, and the two older ladies who dragged their feet whenever the line moved and walked about as quickly as cold molasses as they talked on and on about god only knew what. His only solace was the pained looks on the faces of some of the parents in the crowd, who clearly did not want to be there, but had a gaggle of teenagers or younger in tow. Arthur could almost sympathize… had he not been there for the same reasons as the aforementioned gaggles of youths and slow-walking gossips.

No, truly, the _real_ reason he was subjecting himself to this… was plastered across the pamphlet that was growing ever limp in his grasp. He lifted it up to look at, to remind himself that he could get through this long enough if he really tried, and the reward would be well worth it. Or something like that. He couldn’t tell if this would turn out to be one of his greatest mistakes or not.

The face of all his doubts, the man who still occasionally haunted his dreams at night for the past 10 years, stared back at him from the cover in a pose that flaunted his fit form and too white smile. He was never not wearing leather, never not wearing all that ridiculous make up and that streak of color through his sunny blond hair. Arthur stared until he was suddenly the one dragging his feet, and he stumbled as he was pushed forward by the group behind him.

But he didn’t tear his eyes away just yet. Soon, he would see this man.

Soon, he would see Alfred F. Jones, in the flesh, and face to face for the first time in a very long time.

—

10 years ago, Arthur Kirkland was student council president. It was something he’d really wanted, ever since his parents had moved him and his brothers from England to America for schooling, and Arthur had always thought it would be the perfect way to finally fit in somehow. It was easy at first really, because Arthur was relentless in campaigning and also most of the girls liked his accent.

But once he was elected, he realized the whole thing was a crock, and he wished he’d never tried so hard. Certainly it would look _very_ good on his college application, he definitely couldn’t get enough material to add to his list of achievements to get into his top schools, and yet still he hated it. So much so that even with all the work he put into the position during his junior year, when he was re-elected his senior year, every fuck he could have given was forever lost in a sea of deadlines he had for other things and just general apathy towards the school and student body alike.

He didn’t give up, however. Being a senior came with the perks of having his fellow members actually listen to him seriously (as opposed to the year before where most of the other council members were a year ahead and very much in the same mindset as Arthur was by the end of it now), and he was able to delegate some of the pesky tasks he didn’t want to deal with to hopeful underclassmen. Arthur still had the lions share of responsibility, and he did a damn good job. But none of that meant he really cared. He did what he was supposed to do and that was it.

That included managing most of the student events, approving club forms for new clubs and new members, and of course reporting bad behavior or unrest among his peers to the faculty, like a good little snitch. Arthur had been really good at that at first, but it hadn’t gained him many friends. This year, he eased up a little bit to the point where he was more trusted than before, except in the case of one student in particular: one Alfred F. Jones, the class clown.

Or simply “pain in the ass”, that was what Arthur called him on occasion. And Alfred had quite a few names for _him_ in turn, none of them very nice. They were enemies, and seeing as how different they were in comparison, it was as if the gods themselves had specifically orchestrated their meetings and altercations for the sake of chaos and creating the perfect maelstrom. They didn’t like each other, or at least that was how Arthur felt. He didn’t hate him, but he certainly didn’t like him enough to excuse his behavior.

Alfred had been trouble from day one. He had been a freshman when Arthur was a junior, swarming in with all the bright new faces that year prior, deceptively young and innocent looking from afar. He had been chubby, loud, and had seemed to possess boundless energy. He disrupted most of his classes with jokes or slept through them, but Arthur wasn’t in any of his classes, so he never experienced that first hand for himself. However, Alfred did like to run through the halls, knocking people over in his haste to get places. He would skip his classes every now and then too, Arthur would see him sauntering about long after the tardy bell had rung, hiding in the restrooms or the gym locker rooms and sometimes even the roof. He’d even bring in food from outside and store it in his locker, which made for rodents and a very unhappy janitorial staff.

It had been difficult, but Arthur had come down upon him with all the wrath of a supremely indignant and law-abiding student council representative at the time. He wouldn’t let up, writing “citations” and sticking them all over the Alfred’s overflowing locker, confronting him between classes about the dress code and how Alfred’s standard uniform of ripped jeans and ratty superhero t-shirts were not up to par. One time he’d caught him in the restroom sitting in the corner, doodling in a notebook and listening to music. Technically a rather harmless infraction… but Arthur had been merciless in reporting him to his homeroom teacher. Alfred had never forgiven him for it either, always whining about how Arthur “had it out for him” or some such.

He wasn’t sure what happened between the tail end of Alfred’s freshman year and the summer before the following school year. Those were several months where he stayed out of Arthur’s hair and Arthur nearly forgot about him. Perhaps he’d undergone the same changes that Arthur had, where the day to day had simply become too much and too mundane and Arthur realized his dreams and ambitions were just too big for this silly little school. But the following year was different for the both of them. Arthur had hardly recognized the other boy the first week of classes.

For one thing, he’d thinned out a little from nearly every angle, not quite as scrawny as Arthur was accused of being, but definitely taller and lankier than anyone remembered. He’d managed to hit his growth spurt during the summer, it seemed. More than that, gone were the baggy jeans with holes in the knees and the cheerful though faded print of Superman or Batman insignia on his shirts and backpacks. They were replaced with black pants, black shirts, chains, poorly applied makeup, black nail polish, piercings– did he mention all the black? The only thing that wasn’t was his hair, which Arthur imagined Alfred likely wasn’t allowed to go that far for some reason.

Arthur wasn’t 100% straight laced, he had a couple of piercings of his own and even a tattoo on the back of his left shoulder that he’d been dared to get after a night of under-aged drinking with friends. But Alfred’s literal transformation was something that no one could have expected of the troublesome but still somehow all American, blue-eyed, sunshine kid that Alfred Jones had been for as long as anyone had known him. He had been obnoxious as all hell, but he was at least kind of cute when Arthur really thought about it or was sufficiently drunk enough. Now, “cute” was the very last word he’d ever think to describe him.

His habits hadn’t changed, but there was a darker undertone to them now. Alfred didn’t skip class to draw silly comics on the boys restroom floor anymore. He went to smoke and literally graffiti the walls if he saw fit. When he ran through the halls, he didn’t accidentally knock people over, he deliberately pushed them out of his way. He was still loud, a braggart, and wasn’t shy about telling people how much better he thought he was than everyone else. And in class, well, according to what Arthur had heard, he’d flipped off his teachers more than once, and generally didn’t participate unless it was to say something nasty that would get him sent to the principal’s office and promptly into detention.

Arthur didn’t know what to make it of it, except that it gave him further reason not to let up on the little asshole even a little bit. He didn’t have patience for bratty children, and though Arthur was only older by a few years, he felt infinitely wiser and much less inclined to put up with that sort of nonsense, especially now. Alfred as well had changed from being at least mildly contrite to completely and utterly unrepentant. His insults to Arthur’s person were no longer playful jabs about his “monster eyebrows”, but words intended to cut and to hurt. Arthur had gotten good at ignoring them, but it did little to make dealing with Alfred any less unbearable.

Meanwhile, his friends and fellow council members thought it was absolutely hysterical, and often joked that Arthur was just a little bit obsessed with disciplining the underclassman. Almost as if he _liked_ it when Alfred went out of his way to piss him off. The idea was so preposterous, but the taunting just made him even more disgruntled with Jones to begin with.

It was why one day, when Arthur found Alfred up on the roof for the first time in a long while, crouched up against the side door smoking and posed like some 50’s rebel-without-a-cause but with a cheap goth twist, he didn’t even hesitate to start in on him. He marched right up to the little shit, plucking the cigarette from between his fingers with a wholly unimpressed glare.

“What do you think you’re doing, Jones? You know you’re not allowed up here, especially with these,” Arthur said pointedly, and probably would have tapped his foot like an impatient parent did he not have some dignity left. He felt rather like a parent, and he honestly had to feel sorry for whoever had to take care of Alfred.

Alfred didn’t say anything at first, which was a bit surprising. Normally he’d immediately spit out a ‘fuck off, Kirkland’, at the very least, but this time, the boy just stared right past him, eyes almost unseeing as he kept his position on the ground. It made Arthur scoff and click his tongue in annoyance.

“Oi, are you deaf? The tardy bell ran five minutes ago, you’re lucky I’m the one that found you this time and not a teacher.”

“How is it you always find me?” Alfred finally said, voice thick and a bit scratchy. Maybe it was time for him lay off the cancer sticks, Arthur thought with a bit of snark.

“I’ve known you for two years, idiot. You left the emergency door unlatched and you’re not very good at what you do– much too predictable,” Arthur responded with a roll of his eyes. Alfred responded with a simple grunt, nothing more. He was about to reach down and drag him up off the ground, but something stopped him from doing so right away. Maybe it was the way Alfred still wasn’t looking at him, or maybe it was how he wasn’t flinging insults or throwing punches. They were actually standing within 3 feet of each other and nothing had gotten broken yet. It was strange.

He tried not to let it throw him off, he really did. But something about today was different. Something about _Alfred_ was different. He was wearing the same awful clothes and pouting like the same petulant child he’d turned into, but he didn’t seem to direct any of that towards him. Arthur hated himself for it, but he honestly felt a little worried, and he had no idea why.

After about five minutes of staring blankly at him and Alfred staring blankly elsewhere, Arthur gave up and sighed. The cigarette he’d taken was likely to burn his fingers off, so he tossed it to the ground and scuffed it against the cold concrete to put it out. Alfred watched him do so, the corners of his lips turning up suddenly in what seemed to be amusement.

“Something funny?” Arthur asked.

“Just your ugly face.”

“Oh fuck off.”

Both of their words lacked any of the usual explosive heat between them, and now Arthur really was at a loss. He thought about what to do next, when he saw Alfred rub his fist over his face unconsciously, then curse. The older boy’s eyes were immediately drawn to the movement, and that’s when he noticed the dark bruising around his eye, now uncovered from beneath the weird pale makeup he was used to seeing Alfred wear over his lightly tanned skin. It was smudged now from where he had rubbed unintentionally.

“Did you get in a fight or something?” Arthur asked before he could stop himself. He really didn’t give a shit what Alfred did, and the answer seemed obvious enough to him already. Alfred had had altercations at school many times, though none of them he could recall involved any serious violence, only threats. Then again, for all he knew, Alfred probably got in fights all the time off school grounds. That was probably what this was.

Alfred, however, who could never do anything without bragging or proclaiming what a “badass” he was, gave a stunningly cryptic answer: “I guess you could say that. Why the fuck do you care?”

What the hell did that mean?

And what the fuck _did_ Arthur care?

Well, he didn’t. Not really.

He considered his options. He could have simply taken the opportunity to kick the oddly docile Jones down the backstairs and into the principal’s office now, everything else be damned. The alternative would be to stand here like an idiot, but at the very least avoid a very painful 50 minutes of calculus that he didn’t really want to go to anyway and could afford to skip without question. As student council president and a senior who already had most of his shit together prior to graduation, his teachers were a lot more lenient with him than they should have been, probably.

Even though staying would mean he was giving into his curiosity at Alfred’s strange behavior, it ended up winning out, and he moved to sit beside the other, honestly relieved at the brief reprieve from everything he had grown to loathe in four years– besides the jerk sitting next to him, anyway. Alfred must have thought it odd himself then, as the boy glanced at him sideways, his lips doing that weird upwards quirk thing again like he wanted to laugh but was suppressing it.

“… uh, what?” Alfred asked, incredulously, “aren’t you going to drag me out by my ear and bitch at me?”

Arthur sighed. “Whatever. I don’t care what you do anymore.”

“You cared a hell of a lot five minutes ago when you took my fucking smoke!”

“Yes, and now I’m sort of regretting crushing that fag, I could use it.”

This seemed to stun the other, which made Arthur have to smile a bit himself. Alfred snapped out of it quickly however, and went back to staring ahead.

“That’s a funny word. 'Fag’. Shouldn’t use that around here, people could take offense.”

Arthur snorted. “Not my fault Americans use it incorrectly. What, are you gay or something? Are _you_ offended?”

“No.”

Arthur wasn’t quite sure which question he was saying 'no’ to, but it wasn’t like it was any of his business. He was openly bisexual himself, but it had never been an issue, and it wasn’t something he was keen on discussing with the likes of Alfred.

Then Alfred rubbed at his eye again, the bruise becoming more and more visible with every smudge. It was nagging at Arthur for some reason. Perhaps Alfred had really gotten beat badly and that was why he was out of sorts? He probably deserved it, of that Arthur had no doubt.

“Fuck, it stings,” Alfred muttered suddenly with a frown.

“That generally happens if you don’t treat it properly.”

“Shut up, there’s something in my eye.”

“Who the hell gave you that anyway? Did you get in a brawl with a street gang after school yesterday?” Arthur finally asked, half laughing at the image of Alfred facing off against actual street punks, knowing the golden boy would get his ass handed to him pretty easily.

Alfred didn’t laugh however, and at first Arthur thought it might be because his pride was hurt.

“My stepdad.”

That created a beat of silence that immediately was broken by Alfred hissing in irritation and scrubbing at his eye furiously until he got rid of whatever it was that was bothering him. Meanwhile, Arthur felt something sour twist in his gut, but he wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to such a blunt answer, one that lacked even any anger that one might have at being _punched in the fucking eye_ by a parental figure.

He thought for a moment that perhaps Jones was just making another wisecrack. It could have been a joke. He wouldn’t put past someone like him to joke about something that Arthur didn’t really think was very funny at all, but the other’s expression didn’t change or flinch and there was no hint that he was either going to deny or clarify that statement with any proper response. The idea that it might very well just be the truth certainly made him put his earlier thought of feeling sorry for whoever had to raise Alfred Jones into perspective.

But he didn’t say anything, and there they sat.

Ten minutes later, Arthur stood up. He didn’t bother demanding that Alfred get up and go to class, he knew it would fall on deaf ears. Naturally Alfred didn’t say goodbye either, just gave him a weird look. He didn’t say anything at all, and that bothered Arthur for the rest of the day.

The next time he ran into Alfred, it was the same place, around the same time. Arthur wondered what brought him back up the steps, but it had been at least a week and a half since he’d skipped. Calculus hadn’t gotten any better in that time. Alfred’s eye _had_ , at least, from what Arthur could observe as he approached the delinquent, crouched down almost exactly as he had been before.

“Are you following me?” Alfred spat before Arthur could sit down, a cigarette already halfway to his mouth.

Truthfully, Arthur had been avoiding him since the last time. It made him uncomfortable, because he’d noticed that Alfred hadn’t been making as much of a ruckus either. He wondered, briefly, if it would have even crossed his mind if he hadn’t talked to him the week before. He wouldn’t have batted an eyelash, and thanked whoever the hell was listening that the idiot was staying out of trouble and Arthur didn’t have to deal with him.

But he felt guilty, and angry that he felt guilty at all. It was that anger that prompted him to rip the crinkled pack of cigarettes from Alfred’s hands, as well as the one he’d been holding, which got him cursed at for his efforts.

“Skipping class again, I see?”

Alfred rolled his eyes so hard, Arthur wondered that they didn’t fall right out of his skull. “Obviously. Like you’re any better.”

“I’m an overachiever, thus I don’t have to be there.”

“Or do you and Mr. Langley have an 'understanding’ going on?”

Arthur didn’t take the bait from the crude joke at his expense, and didn’t let up when Alfred tried to grab his cigarettes back.

The boy scoffed loudly. “God, can’t you get off my ass for once?”

“Did your stepdad really hit you?”

Silence, for a moment.

“Yeah, and?”

It was so very matter of fact that Arthur was floored a little.

“Does he do that all the time?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

At first, Alfred pulled back, rather like a frightened animal, frozen and wild-eyed, as though having been caught. But it lasted less than a second, and he was back to sneering unattractively.

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ ,” he started, and when Arthur just raised an eyebrow, his lip curled up in a snarl,“don’t act like you give a shit, it’s none of your fucking business!”

“I don’t give a shit, it was a question,” Arthur said, and found it was easier to lie when he felt defensive. Not that he would have reacted much differently than Alfred had his unofficially sworn enemy expressed anything that looked like concern or sympathy towards him.

“Fuck off and leave me alone! Don’t you have anyone else to harass?!”

Arthur sighed softly. “No one in particular.”

“Just my luck!”

They didn’t really talk after that either, and eventually Arthur got up just as before and left him there, ignoring the way Alfred flipped him off. He didn’t have to bite his tongue so he didn’t say anything in retaliation. He just wasn’t feeling up to it. Alfred’s answer had told him way more than he needed to know, and he almost wished he hadn’t asked at all.

—

The line was moving again, and once more Arthur was shoved and pulled out of his thoughts, nearly plowing into the people in front of him. He had to count to ten in his head, lest he turn around and say something scathing to the girls behind him, who looked just as displeased that he was one more person between them and their seats. But Arthur had mostly left his angry wit behind him for the day. It was replaced with a quiet kind of urgency. Not for the awful music he was about to endure, of course. Well, it wasn’t awful, but it could have been _better_. Arthur had found some videos online weeks in advance and listened to them. Repeatedly.

By the time he was finally in the stadium and had his ticket taken, the crowds were filtering inside. Arthur’s seat was somewhere near the front and center, courtesy of the kind benefactor who’d sent him the ticket in the first place.

 _'I hope you’ll come,’_ the letter said, not in typed format, but handwritten scrawl that couldn’t be anything but authentic, _'I want to see you.’_

It was definitely Alfred’s writing. But it did not sound like his words. They were kind, earnest. Nothing like what Arthur would have expected from the other, considering how they’d acted towards each other back then. And especially not after so many years. 

Arthur remembered getting the letter a month ago, having come home from a long and horrid day at the office. Had he imagined his life would have turned out to be so plain, he wouldn’t have been so haughty throughout his high school and college years. Not that his job was terrible, and it certainly paid well. But the days where he came home tired and irritable after working thanklessly for hours could really take their toll. It was why the letter, not the usual bill or junk mail that flooded his mailbox on a near daily basis, had been a pleasant surprise.

He’d opened it to find a ticket to a show, the hand written letter, and what looked to be some special sort of pass attached and taped to the back of the paper.

_'Use this to come backstage. I’ll be waiting for you!’_

Arthur had thought it so very peculiar, to receive such a thing. After all, he had not heard from Alfred F. Jones since the day Arthur graduated. They hadn’t kept in touch, no emails or phone calls or texts. They’d simply moved on with their lives. Rather, Arthur had tried to, and had been unsuccessful in doing so. Alfred was admittedly hard to forget.

That, and he’d really started to make a name for himself. While Arthur excelled in the publishing world and yet was still further away from his original dreams of being a full fledged writer, Alfred had done what many had thought couldn’t be done. Arthur would only learn later that Alfred had graduated with all perfect marks, which had not been easy for him considering his poor record. But Alfred had never really told him what his plans for the future really were.

A few years later, Arthur was standing in line at the grocery store when the cover of some silly teen magazine caught his eye with a name printed across it.

 _Alfred Jones, A Bright New Star!_ it had read, in sickly purple-pink font. Arthur had stared at it for a long time, and even contemplated picking it up, but uncertain of how that would look. A grown man reading _Teen Beat_ wasn’t something you saw everyday. So he went home and searched on the internet for him instead. There wasn’t much, but what was there struck Arthur to the core.

Alfred was becoming famous. He was doing something with his music, something that Arthur had only known about during the latter half of their knowing each other. Alfred had truly done what many had told him he would never be able to do.

Arthur had been a bit obsessed since then. Every article he could find on the other, he read. He had found all of Alfred’s singles, and again, even not caring for the genre itself didn’t stop him from listening to them, of watching Alfred’s face on his screen and feeling an odd, fluttery feeling in his gut that he had yet to put a name to and didn’t dare. It wasn’t like that… it had never been like that.

And then he’d gotten the letter, completely out of the blue, and it was as if Alfred had known all along.

He was here now, huddled in his seat despite the fact that everyone else was standing, already a massive force of energy and excitement. It was palpable and contagious– Arthur could feel it in every pore as his heart race increased. And as the lights around him went dark and the screams in the audience suddenly intensified, Arthur realized how unprepared he truly felt. Especially when Alfred finally strolled out onto the stage, decked out in leather, the striking tattoo of a star painted on his pretty face, bathed in flashing lights. He started to sing.

—

Arthur kept coming to the roof.

Some days, Alfred wouldn’t be there, and Arthur wasn’t sure if it was because the younger boy wanted to get the hell away from him, or if he just went to class or somewhere else to catch up on his sleep. But the few times he did manage to catch him, Alfred would make a bigger and bigger fuss about him being there, lamenting the fact that the one place he could go for solitude continued to be invaded by the very last person he wanted to be around.

And yet, every time Arthur would sit down, and he was smart enough not to ask about the stepfather anymore, but not smart enough to walk away, and not smart enough not to start looking Alfred over for new injuries or wonder about why the other looked so skinny or why his clothes always had holes in them, or why Alfred’s smiles all seemed like sharp, pained things that were more like reflexes than genuine expressions.

All of it bothered the hell out of Arthur, to the point where one day, he came to the roof, and this time, he didn’t take Alfred’s things. Instead he sat down across from him. Alfred was naturally surprised at this, but he continued to smoke quietly until Arthur demanded that he give him one.

Alfred commented that he was out. Then, he took his out of his mouth and passed it to him. Arthur took a short drag and passed it back, running his tongue over his teeth as the bitter, acrid taste filled his mouth.

“That one’s stale as shit. How long was that sitting in your pocket?” Arthur asked.

Alfred smiled one of his not-smiles and shrugged. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

“You don’t know a lot of things about me.”

“I know that you’re less of an uptight dick than I thought you were, but only by a little. Skipping class now your favorite pastime or what?”

“Because I bloody hate math,” Arthur answered honestly.

“Math’s easy,” Alfred scoffed in reply, inhaling deeply. The cigarette was over half way gone and he pulled it from his lips, giving Arthur a look that asked if he wanted another taste, but Arthur waved him on. He didn’t want to go back to class later smelling like it. Sure he was giving into temptation at the moment, but he still had a role to play.

“Maybe if the only thing you’ve learned is addition and subtraction,” Arthur replied dryly, the barb not meant to be as harsh as it had come out. Alfred seemed to take it in stride however.

“Except I’m in AP Calc, asshole.”

Well, that _was_ a surprise. Arthur hadn’t known that at all. It seemed they were both learning things about each other.

It also appeared that Alfred had returned to the same quiet listlessness from many weeks ago, eyes trained on some point in the sky behind Arthur’s head. He didn’t look any worse or better than usual, but as was becoming par for the course now, he couldn’t help but wonder. It must have shown on his face, because after a while, Alfred wasn’t looking away anymore, but staring at him instead. When Arthur finally noticed, he had the decency to turn a little pink.

“What?” he asked, ever indignant.

Alfred’s expression was carefully blank as he replied, “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“This. Sitting with me. Bothering me every day.”

It was more like every other week or two. Arthur had his reputation to keep. Regardless, he didn’t really have an answer that made any sense to him either.

“Is it 'cause you feel sorry for me?”

If the student council president didn’t know any better, he’d say that it was a trick question. Alfred’s eyes were narrowed at him in such suspicion, just waiting for him to give the wrong answer, to give him an excuse to lash out at him. Even Arthur could tell, the other didn’t want to be pitied– it was written in the other’s tense posture, the way his hand clenched rhythmically into a fist at his side. What could he say, really, that wouldn’t be misconstrued?

“No,” Arthur answered finally, giving a small shrug of his own, “but maybe I wanted to get away for a little while too.”

“Get away?”

“It’s quiet up here,” he clarified.

Alfred snorted. “Yeah, sure used to be.”

“I wouldn’t have had to come up here in the first place if you’d have gone to class.”

“How much of a goody-two shoes are you?”

At that, Arthur shrugged again. “I told you before, I don’t really care what you do anymore. But if I’m going to skip, may as well have an excuse ready just in case someone asks?”

Alfred didn’t seem to have a response for that, so he didn’t say anything. Arthur went quiet as well, pulling a knee up to his chest. But it didn’t last, as Arthur didn’t get up and leave like he normally did, and he could just tell that Alfred was the sort of person who couldn’t stand to sit in quiet for too long, as though it were unbearable for him. His leg started bouncing up and down in agitation. Arthur pretended not to notice until the other spoke up again, this time with clear intent in his expression.

“So when are you gonna admit that you’re just up here 'cause you felt sorry for me? Don’t lie, it’s obvious. You wouldn’t have cared if I hadn’t told you what I did. I didn’t say it so you could play shitty guidance counselor with me, I only said it because it was the truth and I didn’t give a shit about what you thought!”

“Why do you think that I’m lying to you?” Arthur asked him, honestly.

“Because no one cares!” Alfred practically shouted in his face, and then looked like he hadn’t expected to say it so loudly. He flinched violently.

“No one cares, everyone _hates_ me and thinks I’m an idiot, even though I’m _not_! Especially you!”

It was such an odd outburst that Arthur wasn’t even sure how to react at first. For perhaps the first time since he’d ever met this boy, he was showing an emotion that wasn’t cockiness or arrogance. He wasn’t laughing at his own jokes or deliberately trying to start trouble. He looked scared, frightened, and so completely lost that Arthur felt that familiar twisting inside of him that insisted he couldn’t just walk away. He had so much else to worry about, so many other things on his mind, thoughts that were too far and too big for this place. But he had just a little bit left of himself to focus on this stupid boy in front of him, for whatever reason.

“Maybe the first time I came back, I felt sorry,” Arthur began, and held his hand up when Alfred started to open his mouth, “but not after that. I came back because I felt like it. If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to. But I won’t say it’s because I don’t care.”

_Because I do, but like hell I’m going to admit that._

_  
_ “You’re lying, Arthur,” Alfred barked, but it appeared he was still taking in his words, no longer looking as if he would bolt in the very next moment.

“You say that as if I have time to sit here and lie to you to make myself look good. Don’t flatter yourself, _Alfred_.”

It was the first time they’d actually called each other by their first names. A strange accomplishment. Alfred’s name felt weird on his tongue, and the other must have been thinking the same thing, because he looked up and their eyes met. Alfred didn’t quite smile, but it wasn’t that awkward fake one that Arthur had really grown to dislike so much.

“I still don’t believe you.”

“That’s fine, I can’t really blame you. I don’t hate you, but I know you hate me.”

Alfred looked away sharply for a moment, and if Arthur didn’t know any better, he would almost say the other was blushing just a little. “I never said I hated you!”

It was a rather unexpected response. He raised an eyebrow, but when it was clear Alfred wasn’t going to bother clarifying, he didn’t push it. He let it hang in the air, and the unspoken understanding settled. Something changed, something shifted.

After that day, they talked little by little, and when they didn’t, the silences were filled with more calm and a little less awkwardness. Through some miracle, he’d actually convinced Alfred that lunch was a better time, because it was getting to the point where Arthur really couldn’t make up another excuse to his teachers as to why he was always vanishing. He wasn’t sure if Alfred was still skipping third period or not. What mattered was that every time Arthur went to meet him at noon, he was there, and that spoke volumes.

Arthur would learn about Alfred’s likes and dislikes pretty quickly, since as it turned out, the other couldn’t shut up once he truly opened up. He was still loud, and extremely opinionated to the point that Arthur wanted to punch him sometimes, but he got the feeling Alfred hadn’t been listened to in quite a while. Arthur even expressed his own frustrations at home, his restlessness with the world and his desires, which gave Alfred an outlet to open himself up further without Arthur having to ask.

Alfred’s lunches were always fatty junk food that he’d buy in the morning from the corner store across from where he caught the bus in the morning, and he was a sloppy eater. Arthur, at first, truly didn’t know how he got away with eating that and still managing to be as thin as a rail. It disturbed him on many levels, though he liked to think that when he started bringing extra food in his own lunches, it was because he was just distracted in the mornings and packing too much. It was fine if Alfred took what he couldn’t eat, because why waste it?

Eventually Alfred admitted that he often didn’t have breakfast or dinner at home. Lunch was always courtesy of whatever loose change his mother remembered to dig up and leave on his dresser in the mornings. Needless to say that after that, Arthur didn’t even pretend to pack extra by mistake anymore, and Alfred never said anything else about it.

It was also because of that that he would learn when Alfred had had a rough night. Those days where Arthur hadn’t been able to recognize the other, when Alfred had seemed lifeless and distracted, were part of a distinct pattern that he steadily learned how to recognize. And he would learn fairly quickly that sometimes, the bruises weren’t always where he could see them.

“It’s not all the time. It’s only once in a while, only when he’s drunk,” Alfred would explain to him one day, while munching on Arthur’s left over carrot sticks, “and when mom’s not home. She doesn’t come home some nights because of him.”

When Arthur was silent, he continued, “Didn’t used to be this way. It was better before she met him. We didn’t have anything, but at least we were happier.”

 _I was happier,_ is what Arthur could hear, and he remembered the silly freshman kid doodling in his notebook, earnestly running to and fro, eager to make friends, eager to do just about anything for attention. And then everything changed in just one summer and a few months.

He never told Arthur these things with a sad face. He’d seen Alfred at his most vulnerable, so he knew the other was capable of it. But for whatever reason when he talked of his home life, it was always cold, detached, as if he were separating himself completely from the reality of the situation. Arthur never pressed, and never pitied. He had told Alfred several times that if he ever needed help, or somewhere to go, Arthur wouldn’t turn him away. He wasn’t sure if they were friends now, or if they ever could be, but he made sure Alfred could trust that he wouldn’t go back on that.

“Sometimes, it’s because I sing too loud in my room.”

“You sing?” Arthur asked nonchalantly as possible.

“Yeah. I like music. All kinds.”

That had started them away from Alfred’s problems and on to the merits of hard rock versus proper punk, and it dissolved far too quickly into the usual chaos that they could never quite escape from. But even as they argued, Arthur felt the change deeply, and couldn’t even be too angry when Alfred called one of his favorite bands one hit wonders. That was probably the only time he ever truly pitied the other, because Alfred _clearly_ had no taste.

He claimed to have a nice voice though– he wouldn’t sing for Arthur, but he’d hum a few bars, and the older boy honestly felt impressed. Alfred had innate musical knowledge, on top of everything else he actually seemed to be good at. But classes were difficult for him to focus in, and he often tested better than he did anything else. The pieces all started to fall into place for Arthur, and he found that Alfred’s behaviors made a lot more sense to him now that he knew the other better.

He still wasn’t sure if they were friends. But this made them _something_ , surely.

—

The concert was nothing short of phenomenal. Fuzzy phone camera videos on the internet really couldn’t compare to being up close, to hearing Alfred belt his heart out on stage to a crowd whose numbers one couldn’t sneeze at. Arthur would have boggled more at the sheer number of people, but he was too busy being swept up in the same passion that everyone else was. The passion of Alfred F. Jones, so handsome and so charismatic.

 _A Bright New Star!_ the magazine had read those many months ago. Never had a description been so apt. It was almost hard to look up at Alfred for how bright he really was.

He couldn’t find it in himself to be critical of any of it. Maybe he had thought the lyrics were just this side of mediocre at one point. Perhaps the melodies a bit too common, too overdone. But in the face of it, Arthur could only think that it sounded exactly like the boy he used to know. No matter how different Alfred looked up there on stage, full of life and striving for the kind of greatness that only a few could ever achieve, Arthur knew, could _feel_ that it was him. Every word, every note, all of it was the Alfred he remembered.

He was a bit dazed, and during intermission, he went to the restroom to splash a bit of water on his face. He was perhaps a little starry eyed when he looked in the mirror, which was incredibly embarrassing, and he had to spend a few minutes slapping his blushing cheeks to calm himself down. The backstage pass seemed to burn a hole in his back pocket and he still didn’t know what he was going to do once they met again.

The second half came, and the energy remained. It was by then that Arthur was standing up, not quite ready to raise his hands when Alfred emphatically encouraged the audience to do so. But he watched, lips moving silently as he repeated the words from songs he’d listened to before. For a few breathless seconds at one point, it seemed Alfred had finally noticed him out in the crowd. Of course, it was during a slower ballad that had everyone else swaying in the aisles with their glowing accessories. Alfred seemed to look right at him through the dark, which couldn’t have been easy, considering all the lights shining in Alfred’s face.

His expression didn’t change, but the way he suddenly gripped the microphone in his hands made Arthur think he’d truly been noticed.

As the performance came to a close, the band that had been playing behind him went quiet, and Alfred grabbed a guitar from one of them. The screams around Arthur surged. He supposed he wasn’t surprised that Alfred knew guitar– how could he be? There was still so much Alfred hadn’t told him, and yet knowing Alfred just a little made him think the boy– no, man–surely had much more up his sleeve.

He played on and crooned into the mic like he was born to do, and eventually there was cries for an encore. Alfred chuckled, and Arthur swore everyone in the room swooned (including him, but just a little).

“ _You guys have been great!_ ” he called out, smiling widely, “ _one more for the road?_ ”

—

Arthur remembered the week before his high school graduation perhaps the most fondly. His plans thus far were more or less falling into place, the student council had already voted on the next leaders to follow after he and the other seniors were gone for the fall, and he felt freer. His apathy remained, but that was fine. He spent what enthusiasm he had left to spare on communicating with Alfred, who had long since stopped swearing at the sight of him.

“What are you going to do?” Alfred asked him, as they stood on the roof and looked down at their little town. His hair was messy and his clothes rumpled as usual, but Arthur had noticed him wearing more color these last few weeks than he had the entire year so far. The bright blue Superman shirt with the faded logo was the last thing he would see the other in, the colors burned in his memory, as well as Alfred’s eyes meeting his, gaze slightly hidden behind his glasses.

“I’m going to my first choice school, they accepted me long ago,” Arthur answered after a moment, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I’m finally going to get out of here.”

“Lucky… I don’t even know where I’m going to end up in two years. But I can’t wait to get out of that crappy house. I’ll show that bastard what I’m really worth–”

“Do it for yourself, Alfred,” Arthur said, with a gentle shake of his head, so used to repeating the same thing by now. “Do it for you. That’s what’s most important. And anyway, you still have time. But–”

“Yeah, yeah, 'don’t wait too long’. I’ve heard it before. You really are like a naggy guidance counselor.”

“I must not be that bad if you’re finally starting to remember the advice I’m giving you,” Arthur countered with a roll of his eyes.

Alfred actually laughed and cracked a smile at that. “You know what I’m going to do?”

“What?”

“Everything.”

Arthur tilted his head at him in a clear question. Everything could mean anything. Who was to know if it would be enough, to have dreams that big, but no clear direction? Arthur wasn’t going to lecture him though, not today. He’d already told Alfred before, that he didn’t have to stay where he was now. Even if he had to suffer through a few more years, he could get out. But he had to do more than dream. That would mean giving up the rebel act that had pitted him against himself and others for a whole year.

Arthur knew he would. He’d already made steps in that direction, after all.

“Hey, Arthur?”

“Hm?”

“I hope…”

Arthur glanced at him, waiting for him to finish. Alfred’s smile was different then, and it was yet one more thing he knew he’d always remember about the other.

“…I hope we run into each other again. Sometime.”

“Alfred…”

“I know you’ll probably forget about me, but I’ll find you instead!”

Arthur, at the time, had wanted to say that there was _no way_ he could forget someone like Alfred. But he didn’t. He just laughed lightly and said he’d be waiting for him then. He was too young then, still, to understand why Alfred’s words made him feel the way they did. And he deliberately hadn’t read too much into the way Alfred’s eyes had lingered on him, the amount of hope and desire for acceptance in his words and in his movements. The kind of acceptance he’d never been able to get at home and not at school.

They weren’t really friends, but maybe they could have been, if they’d had more time, is all Arthur would allow himself to think. Maybe they could have been a lot of things.

Maybe.

—

It was a whirlwind between finding his way from his seat and then backstage. He was stopped at least four or five times by different staff and security, and he’d wordlessly show his pass and they’d let him through without another word. He thought he might find his way to a dressing room or something, but the halls behind the stage were winding and confusing, and there were just so many people around, he didn’t know where to go or whom to ask.

He felt foolish almost, swallowing around a lump of disappointment and irritation. He wanted to find the exit. Alfred was probably busy. Probably doing something else, talking to other people. Alfred was too bright, too far from anything Arthur could have ever remembered, he probably didn’t even know what Arthur looked like anymore, let alone–

“Arthur? Arthur Kirkland?”

He turned, just as his heart just about leaped out of his chest. He wasn’t even all the way around when a hand found his shoulder, and there was Alfred, face shiny with perspiration and a bit of glitter, smile even whiter up close. There was that streak of purple in his hair to match the star on his cheek, both of which would have looked completely ridiculous on anyone else. Arthur’s breath caught in his throat before he could reply with an affirmative, and simply stared at the other.

“It is you!” Alfred was saying, and then laughed. “It has to be with those _eyebrows–_ ”

“You _ass_ ,” Arthur spat immediately, and then blushed and felt like a terrible person. Those weren’t the first words he wanted to say after 10 years.

 _It’s not like it matters_ , he thought, _It’s just like how we used to talk to each other before. It’s not as though we mean much to each other._

_  
_ _Maybe._

_  
_ Alfred laughed as loudly as he remembered, and patted him on the shoulder. His hands were bigger, and he’d filled out in ways that Arthur had certainly noticed when looking him up, but up so close, it was even more obvious. He’d really grown up and into himself, taller than Arthur by several inches now, wider and more fit and toned. He was a young man, already past his awkward phase and into adulthood. The years had made him flourish.

Arthur wondered how he looked in comparison. He definitely looked older, he was sure. He felt older, especially standing next to Mr. Youth-and-Exuberance personified.

“God, I’m so glad I found you. It’s a madhouse back here– here, this way – Joyce! I’m going to my room– yeah, thanks!” he called to one of the staff, and pulled Arthur along with ease through the people moving around and taking down equipment.

He was brought to what looked like his dressing room, considering the outfits tossed about the floor and the large vanity mirror that took up a substantial amount of wall space. Makeup and other beauty tools were scattered across the surface of the vanity, bottles of hair spray and hair coloring among them. There was a door that led to a bathroom, while the rest of the room had a leather sofa, a television, and a mini fridge. Fresh fruit, several kinds, was cut up and sitting out on plates. Alfred grabbed a strawberry on his way in and popped it into his mouth as Arthur followed, taking everything in.

As Alfred pulled up a chair for him, Arthur focused on the stacks of CDs, the laptop open to some sort of recording software, and the large stereo in the corner. An old guitar sat propped up in one corner.

“Looks homey in here,” Arthur murmured, needlessly. Alfred smiled at him and pulled up another chair to sit down across from him.

“Yeah. This is all they’d let me bring in from the bus.”

"The bus? Oh, of course. I’m not keeping you, am I–”

“No no, you’re fine. The agent wants to take me to dinner to meet some producers, but I told them I was busy tonight.”

Arthur went a little pale, his mouth twisting in a stern frown. “Alfred, you shouldn’t do that.”

“What?” Alfred looked innocent. “It’s the truth. Anyway, don’t worry about it!”

Of course he worried about it. Especially as they sat there in awkward silence. It was funny how things could come full circle this way. It was interesting how much had changed between them, and yet how many things had managed to stay the same.

They talked. Well, Arthur did. Again, it was funny what actually had changed. Arthur talked about everything he’d been up to, his feats and accomplishments. It felt a bit silly and pointless to do so in front of someone who was making far more money than he ever would, someone for whom greatness was part of his everyday life. But he talked anyway, because maybe he’d been waiting to for a long time now. And Alfred listened, didn’t interrupt once except to grin and congratulate him on his success.

When he was finished and it was Alfred’s turn, Arthur listened very carefully. He learned that Alfred had been studying at a decent tech college for three years, spending his nights playing his guitar at the bar he worked part time at. That was where he was discovered, and everything since then had been something out of his wildest dreams. Arthur couldn’t help but think that Alfred deserved to have that much.

Apparently, he was no longer in contact with his stepfather, who had divorced Alfred’s mother shortly after Alfred’s sophomore year. One more thing for Arthur to be thankful for. It meant Alfred hadn’t been left alone to deal with something so awful after Arthur had gone.

“But why me, Alfred?” he asked. It had been over an hour since they’d begun, and Arthur’s anxiety had yet to fully ebb away. “Why did you send me that letter?”

“Because I wanted to see you,” Alfred replied, running a hand through his hair. “Do I really need another reason?”

It made Arthur bristle just a bit. “I suppose not… But what made you think I’d actually show up?”

Alfred expression was amused, and Arthur almost wanted to feel insulted. At least, until the other man leaned forward, hair hanging in his eyes and looking more genuine and more devastatingly handsome than any person had right to be.

“Because I remembered you. I remember you coming up to sit with a pathetic kid almost everyday for almost eight months, acting like you didn’t care what happened to me. But you never left,” he said lowly, mouth fixed in a smile Arthur recognized, and it shook him to his core.

“I remember dressing in clothes I didn’t even like, acting out. I remember thinking back then the way everybody does at 16. No one loves you, no one cares, nothing matters. Granted I had more reason to believe that because of other things, but.”

He paused to wince.

“That’s over now. Been in a lot of therapy, heh. Gotten way better. Plus I’m doing what I love, you know? I’m doing everything, just like I said I would.”

“You are,” Arthur said softly, more of a statement than a question.

Alfred hummed thoughtfully. “But before that, there was you. Just you, Arthur.”

“Me…?”

“Just you. I don’t have to be dramatic, and I don’t have to lie to impress you– remember, those were your words, not mine–but honestly? I don’t think I’d be here, if you hadn’t gotten on my ass the way you did back then.”

Arthur snorted, whether in disbelief or amusement, it clearly didn’t matter. His heart thumped painfully in his chest at the words, feeling as though this couldn’t be anymore cliche if they tried, but that was okay, as far as he was concerned.

“So is that why you asked me here? To thank me?”

Alfred grinned wider. “Well, kinda. Sorta. That’s part of it.”

Arthur looked up at him, waiting for him to explain himself. So Alfred did, but not before he edged close enough to press the gentlest of kisses to his lips.

“I suppose…” he began, pulling away from Arthur’s suddenly blushing face,“I was kinda hoping that you’d indulge me, just one more time. That you’d hear me out, because I never got to tell you how much that– well… how much _you_ meant to me. I pictured doing this so many times, even right after you graduated and were gone… I thought you’d laugh! Which is why I had to make sure I was pretty cool the next time we met. Couldn’t have you making fun of me!”

He winked at him, his eyes strangely bright.

“I wanted to impress you. I wanted you to see that I could be true to my word. I wanted… a whole lot of things.”

 _Me too_ , Arthur thought woefully.

“I’m happy now. But I know I could be happier.”

He took a breath.

“And so I said I’d find you,” Alfred said, reaching out to take Arthur’s hand, “and I did.”

Arthur’s smile was more tearful than it needed to be as he laced their fingers together.

“You did.”

Just like he said he would. Arthur would learn then, never to doubt Alfred again. Not that he really had, but a reminder was always a good thing. It wasn’t going to be easy, planning, rearranging their lives to make room for one another once more, this time for keeps.

But the falling in love part came quite naturally.


End file.
